


An Outlet

by Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Graphic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/Laure%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Derek just needs release and it's easier to find it in the mindless act of sex with a stranger than attempt any connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Outlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musesinspiration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesinspiration/gifts).



> Just pretend Jessie doesn't exist or never came back in time.

Sarah is his brother's obsession, not his.  He can understand the attraction to the young woman in the photo, but that's not the Sarah he knows.

His Sarah, the one the death of his brother created, is hard, tough.  Beautiful, sure, but as sharp as a diamond and as broken as shattered glass.

She is too like the women of his own time.

And he's not sure if he approached her for a quick fuck whether she'd punch his lights out or ride him until he was numb and as broken as her.

So, Derek doesn't.  He finds comfort in the sweet-smelling, soft women of the world before the end.  He knows he's rough around the edges, is dangerous, but that seems to attract some of them.  They want to risk themselves, in a restrained way, if only for a night, and he's too happy to oblige.  A couple of drinks, a few laughs that never reach his eyes, and they're his.

Tonight's woman is young, a college student at UCLA, hair just that fake shade of honey blonde, eyes a soft brown.  She's toned and tanned and doesn't giggle.  He buys her a drink, leans an elbow on the bar, introduces himself by his first name only.  Her's is Megan with a long 'e'.  He'll forget it by morning but then he'll be gone by then.

She has an apartment she shares with two other women, both out for the evening, and her bed is big and covered in blue flowers.  He's used to doing this on bedrolls spread over rubble and against crumbling walls.  The bed is too soft, so, in the middle of a kiss, she down to a bra and tiny pink panties, he in his pants, he pulls her up and pushes her against the wall--not too hard but enough to make her gasp, then smile and twine a leg around his hip.  The rest of their clothes fall quickly.

She's not a talker.  He never has been, in a world where sound can mean the end of a life.  Then, pleasure was taken in as near a silence as two people fucking their fears away could make it.

When he pushes into her, his strong hands on her hips holding her against the wall, her legs around him, she whimpers but nothing else.  He appreciates that and answers her with a soft groan of pleasure against her lips.  Her eyes fall closed, her breathing comes ragged, but he watches her, watches the wall beside her head.  He can't close his eyes during sex no matter how hard he tries.  Another survival instinct.

Feeling her tightening around him, her wet heat seeping through the latex wrapped around his cock, he grinds her harder against his pelvis and pumps his hips faster.  Her fingernails, manicured with shiny pink polish, dig into his shoulders, adding small marks to the mass of scars that litter his body.  He always tells them he was in the war so they don't ask.

He comes first, groaning soundlessly into her hair, and shuddering against her, and as her legs slide from his sweaty back and her feet find the floor, he reaches between them and flicks his fingers over her clit until she whimpers again and quakes and breaks apart.

He slips from her, and body still reverberating with pleasure, he goes into the adjoining bathroom.  When he returns, she's curled on the bed, beneath a sheet, smiling, but not beckoning to him.  Gathering up his clothes, he dresses quickly and watches her still smile and turn away from him.  He appreciates her lack of clinginess.

Staying with them is never an option.

Sarah is waiting for him, and the mission is always the priority.  As Derek silently leaves the girl whose name he's already forgotten, he wonders if Sarah ever goes out and picks up a guy and just fucks for the release.  He knows she loved Charlie, but something went really hard in her after she had to leave him.  As if she finally accepted that the mission, John's survival and training are all that matter, and she is nothing but the one who keeps him safe.

Which is another reason not to fall into bed with her.  He's already too attached to her and she to him.  They don't need that complication between them.

Easier to continue this outlet for sexual relief.

Better than his own hand in the shower.

Although not all that different in the end.  Derek's not sure if that should bother him or not.

Which goes to show just how fucked up he really is.

End


End file.
